


Symbolism

by lal nila syrin (lalnilasyrin)



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Angst, Gen, implied DxS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalnilasyrin/pseuds/lal%20nila%20syrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hated it. He wanted to destroy it. He wanted to make it disappear.</p><p>And yet he couldn’t bear to let it go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symbolism

**Author's Note:**

> It... seems a bit ooc? S-sorry... I'm not good at this... but I kept thinking about Dan's symbol and I couldn't help but think he had kept it for SOME reason... like he still cared about what it meant--or who it had come from... U-um s-sorry if it's bad, I'm not a phandom writer I just wanted to try this one thing...
> 
> Dedicated to Rixi, who is pretty much the reason I posted this (on tumblr, originally).

Dan was alone, after the world was destroyed. After everyone was gone and dead and even the ghosts ceased to exist. After the fires flickered out and the wind came in, not a sound surrounded him in this wide barren wasteland—a wasteland he had created.

And it was times like this, when no one was there to hear him dramatically cackle, and the flickering of his forked tongue could not intimidate anyone, that Dan dropped his smile and closed his eerie red eyes.

The hollow silence in his chest reached his ears.

In all these years, sometimes a moment of reflection was necessary—and sometimes it could not be helped. After all, when there was only him in the world now… what else was there to do?

Sometimes he wondered when he would finally fade away, so that the world would truly be empty. But he knew he would not—it was something of a punishment, wasn’t it, for getting his family and friends killed so long ago.

His existence by itself, he knew, was the very reminder of his sins—the fact that he, all flaming hair and blue skin and red eyes, was not _Danny Phantom_ anymore was the reminder of what he had become because they were gone—something twisted, something evil, something so very very alone. He was the reason they were gone—he was the reason he was alone.

And he hated himself so much for that. He hated himself, he hated fate, he hated the world—he hated it all so much he had tried to make it all go away so that he wouldn’t have to face it all, ever again… He had destroyed the world, drowned in insanity, trying so desperately to inflict his pain unto others so that it would go away—it didn’t. Those unfortunate enough to face his misplaced mind died in stead.

At that time, others had called him a monster—they ran from the ghost like people _should_ run from ghosts. They feared him, and he almost reveled in that fear—and the more he thought he was a monster deserving that kind of fear, that kind of screaming isolation, the more he became what they thought he was—evil, murderous, _heartless_.

But… now, standing alone on the dirt, thinking back on every city he had leveled, on every person he had killed, on every future he had crushed—including his own—he looked down.

That symbol on his chest, that white D with the P inside of it… yes, how long had it been since he had been Danny Phantom—how long had it been since he had been _Danny_.

How long had it been since _she_ had put that emblem on his chest and marked him a real hero.

_Her_ hero.

He was no hero. Not anymore. Not in a long time. Never again.

And yet… there it was, the symbol of everything he used to be, of everything he had once cared about, of everything he had stood for and fought for. Everything he forgot the moment he lost them—the moment he lost _her_.

It had become meaningless when the only thing that mattered was himself.

So why was it still there?

He glared at it, clutching at his chest. It was nothing but a cruel reminder—a reminder of everything he had lost, and couldn’t save. The reason destroying all of those lives was validated. It was his guilt glaring back at him in that bold white letter.

He hated it. He wanted to destroy it. He wanted to make it disappear.

And yet he couldn’t bear to let it go—the symbol that drove him now further into the abyss of his deranged mind.

Because it was the only thing he had left of them—of _her_ —and it would stay with him forever when no one else would.

And in the deafening silence, in the depths of his long-stopped heart, he missed them. He missed _her_. And though there was not a sound in his chest to prove to the nothingness it was wrong, maybe…

He wasn’t so heartless after all.

And his wail was filled with the cry of thousands, millions—because he never forgot, and he never stopped blaming himself for their deaths.

This was his reminder—and his last bit of humanity… the only piece of his past. The thing he wanted to forget most… and the only thing he held dearest. The symbol emblazoned with their— _her_ love.

Yes, indeed, maybe he wasn’t so heartless after all.


End file.
